


Pause

by J_Q



Series: TIMELESS [3]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Canon Divergent, Canon Typical Swearing, Domestic Fluff, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-12-09 01:08:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11658438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/J_Q/pseuds/J_Q
Summary: What if…We paused on certain moments in Mickey and Ian’s alternate life created in part 2 of this series? In doing so, we could right some wrongs: Shameless denied Ian a proper courtship in Seasons 1-3 and denied Mickey a proper Ian in Seasons 5-7 and denied its loyal fans a proper happily ever after.Chapter 1: The Wooing of Ian GallagherChapter 2: The Care and Maintenance of Mickey MilkovichChapter 3: Happily Ever Fucking AfterChapter 4: Epilogue or Some Shit(Or what would happen if the show changed its name from Shameless to Shamelessly Romantic?)





	1. The Wooing of Ian Gallagher

**Author's Note:**

> Reading part 2: Fast Forward is recommended for full understanding

**Gay for Ian**

Mandy eyes her cell phone’s call display with surprise.

“Hello?”

“Mandy?” Mickey barks.

“Yes, Mickey,” Mandy purrs.

“I need, um, help.” Interesting.

“It’ll cost ya.”

“Fine, I’ll help you remove your name from the bathroom stalls at the Alibi.”

“You ever hear about catching flies with honey, dickhead,” she retorts dryly. “What do you need help with?”

“Gay shit,” Mickey announces like he’s in league with Atlas for the weight he’s carrying.

“Gay shit? You want me to explain what goes where? Cause I’m not exactly an expert, but I can probably guess,” she quips. “Let’s see, are you bottom or is Ian?”

“I’m busting a nut laughing,” he drawls.

“Wait, wait. Let me guess!” She’s flat out laughing now enjoying the magic of this moment. “Ian is so sweet natured and you’re, like, Grouchy Smurf without his morning coffee. OMG! You’re the fucking bottom, aren’t you? Gotta balance that shit out!”

“I’m gonna hang up, Mandy,” he threatens somewhat sincerely.

She enjoys one final chuckle. “Oh, okay, Grumpy Smurf, what gay shit are you talking about?”

“You know, like flowers and fucking chocolates and poems or whatever.”

“You mean courtship?”

With a strangled sigh, he huffs, “I guess, yeah. Do you have to call it that?”

“How about wooing then?”

Dead air. “Just, help, okay?”

“Let me get this straight then. You are asking me to help you court Ian, is that what I’m hearing?”

“I guess you don’t need ear transplant surgery, Dumbo.”

“The answer is, wait for it, hell yes!” Her voice carries down the phone line like a bullhorn. “Oh, this is gonna be so much fun. I can’t even believe we are having this conversation.” Her giggles build again verging on insane. “Your comfort zone is gonna get de-stroyed, brother, like I mean oh-blit-er-at-ed, crushed, smashed to pieces.”

“Fuck off. Are you calling me a pussy? You think I can’t handle fucking dating?”

“Ah, yeah, Casanova, that’s exactly what I think. But that’s why you got me. As you recall, I am the matchmaker of the century, so it seems pretty fucking obvious I’d be the expert at gay shit as well.” The self congratulationing ends abruptly, when she asks, “Wait. Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you asking for help doing gay shit for your boyfriend?”

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“Just drop it, Mandy.” He’s starting to get agitated, already pushed out of his comfort zone.

But Mandy is determined to start her brother’s lessons now. “Because he’s a sweetheart and guys keep using him for sex or to show off as arm candy or--?”

“Okay! I guess, yeah.”

“Very good, Mickey.”

Mickey adds reluctantly, “He gets all moony over the slightest romantic gesture, like a girl for fuck’s sake.”

“Good for you for stepping up your game. For the record, I love him, A LOT,” Mandy says fiercely.

“I love him, too.” Mickey matches her emotion. “More than you,” he mumbles.

She hums. “We’ll see. Also I don’t hate you, shithead.”

“I don’t hate you, either, fuckface.”

“My shift ends at six. Come by. I’ll buy you waffles and make you my bitch.”

 

Over waffles, a plan is set in motion. A plan that includes pet names, hashtags, a special song, and love notes. All the requirements to give Ian a good, hard wooing.

 

 

**Sweetheart?**

“Mickey _fucking_ Milkovich.”

“Lip _get the fuck out of my face and get your fucking brother_ Gallagher.”

Leaving Mickey standing in the front entrance, Lip heads into the living room to yell up the stairs, “Ian your boyfriend is here to pick you up for your date!” Each word wrapped in a smirk. “No flowers, Mickey?”

The nose rub and shoulder roll give way to a forced smile when Mickey hears Ian’s feet pounding down the stairs. Mandy says absolutely no fist fighting on date night.

 

“You brought your work truck?” Ian asks closing the Rack It Distributors truck door as he slides onto the seat.

“Uh, yeah, the bench seat is more spacious than bucket seats.”

“Oh, that sounds interesting. Where are we going?” Ian is gathering up the papers and ammo boxes from between them on the middle of the bench seat.

Mickey is watching him curiously. “Drive-in.”

“What? That’s fucking awesome. I’ve never been to a drive-in.” He leans over the back of the seat putting the stuff he’s gathered on the bench behind them. Facing forward again, he slides his butt to the middle of the front seat not quite touching Mickey but close.

“Too gay?” he asks.

Mickey’s immediate reaction is Fuck Yes, but Ian looks at him with his big happy eyes. “Nah, too far away, man.”

Grinning, Ian rubs Mickey’s thigh. “Let’s roll. I am gonna make out through this whole movie.”

 

Back in front of the Gallagher house a few hours later, Mickey turns to Ian. “So I made a--.” He’s cut off by Ian’s lips. “Didn’t get enough of that during the movie, horndog?”

“Does it look like it?” He moves his lips to Mickey’s cheek. “What did you make?”

“A list.” Again he’s cut off by Ian’s lips on his throat this time. “A list of pet names that I could maybe call you.”

Ian pulls back like he’s been slapped. “You did?”

They stare at each other for a moment, the air between them shifting from playful to electric. “Can I hear them?” Ian coaxes, pulling Mickey forward by the shirt collar.

Mickey brings his lips to Ian’s ear: _baby_. Ian sucks in his breath and closes his eyes in bliss.

Mickey moves his lips to the sensitive spot behind Ian’s ear: _sexy_. Ian expels his breath with a groan.

Mickey slides his lips along Ian’s jawline: _sunshine_. Ian turns his head toward Mickey and opens his eyes.

Mickey places his lips on Ian’s: _sweetheart_. Ian inhales Mickey’s breath.

Mickey pulls away slightly and lifts his eyebrows in question.

“I choose sweetheart, definitely,” Ian moans wrapping his arms around Mickey’s neck.

“Let’s try it out then,” Mickey replies pushing Ian’s back into the seat, locking eyes. “I love you, sweetheart.”

“That was okay, I guess. Needs a lot of practice though, Mick,” Ian retorts all innocence.

“Oh, yeah? Well, all right.” He thinks for moment. “How about this? God, I want you to fuck me good and hard. I want to feel every fucking inch of you inside me, banging me so deeply I come all over myself…sweetheart.”

“Not bad,” Ian whispers. “I’ll let you know when you get it just right.”

 

Once Ian is safely in the Gallagher house, Mickey sends a quick text.

\--mission complete. I mean cumplete

The reply is immediate.

\--ewww, TMI

\--proud of you XO

 

 

**Five Days, Two Hours and Twelve Minutes**

“One, two, three, up!” Yev yells. “Again!”

Mickey, Ian and Yev are walking down the street past vape shops, tattoo parlours and nail salons. Yev is between them holding their hands. On the count of three, they swing him high up in the air. They’ve lost count how many times he’s yelled “again” at them.

Yev lets out a huge yawn after the last swing and turns to Ian. “Carry me,” he commands knowing which of his two protectors is the weak link. He’s scooped up and nuzzled, cocooned in strong arms for the rest of the walk to his mom’s house.

“I haven’t been to the arcade in forever,” Ian comments.

Mickey snorts. “It shows. You ain’t gonna be the next pinball wizard.”

“Careful, smart ass. Yev and I kicked your butt on the Dance Dance Revolution,” he smirks and Yev lifts his hand for a high five.

“Unicorn! Unicorn!” Yev yells at Mickey, who removes two stuffed unicorns from his jacket pocket. He’d spent a week’s wages working the joystick on the Claw Crane to get not one but two ridiculous stuffed unicorns for his boys. To keep Mandy happy, he’s sent a picture of the pair of them having a unicorn horn sword fight.

“Which one you want? Pointy McHorseface,” he holds up the pink one, “or Captain Pain.” He stabs Yev in the side with the mint green one. Yev and Ian laugh their heads off.

“Captain Pain!”

When they arrive at the gate to Svet’s house, Yev reaches over to Mickey, his arms held open. "Come here, little man," Mickey says. They transfer the boy and Mickey heads up the walk to return him to his mother promising a sleepover on the weekend. Yev hugs his dad and looks at Ian over his shoulder holding out his hand. Ian steps forward to take it and Yev pulls him in. “Group hug!”

As they turn back onto the main sidewalk, Mickey smiles at Ian. “Come on. I’ll buy you a hot chocolate before I return you to your mommy too.”

“Carry me,” Ian turns to Mickey with open arms.

 

They sit down at a little table with their fancy ass hot chocolate, admiring the perfection of whip cream, chocolate sauce and shavings.

“Fucking orgasm in a cup, man,” Mickey decides bringing it to his lips for a taste as Ian stands up to grab napkins from the stand beside them. His eyes light up over the rim of the mug when he looks at Ian. “Fucking orgasm in jeans, man.”

When he realizes he said that out loud, he glances at the table beside him meeting the eyes of two 20 something women who nod enthusiastically. He gulps his hot chocolate burning his mouth in the process. Ian looks at him with a frown as he finds his seat again.

“Speaking of orgasms, it’s been forever. Like five days,” he looks at the time on his phone and closes his eyes for a moment in concentration, “two hours and twelve minutes.”

Mickey slides his eyes to the women again, who turn their heads away quickly.

“You are not dropping me off at my door without taking care of--,” he waves his hand in the direction of his groin, “Pointy McHorseface.” Ian explains drawing Mickey’s eyes back to his, brows lifted in expectation.

Mickey leans forward dropping his voice; he’s well aware of the prying ears beside them, even if Ian is oblivious. “What do you have in mind?”

“Well, I have in mind that I’m going to stick my dick in you,” Ian answers nonchalantly. “Don’t much care which part of you at this point.” He licks the whip cream off his stir stick and reaches over to slip it between Mickey’s lips demonstrating one option currently on the table.

Three little gasps are emitted in chorus, and Mickey realizes as Ian lifts his mug to his lips and licks more whip cream off the top that Ian knows full well they have an audience. “Well?”

“Alley?” Mickey suggests.

“Nah, too gross.”

“Park?” Mickey continues.

“Nah, too pedophile-ish.”

“What are you, fucking Goldilocks now?” Mickey gripes.

“Something is definitely too hard,” Ian confirms.

 Mickey shakes his head but then waves to the back of the coffee shop. “Restroom?”

Ian glances down the narrow, dim hallway with a set of individual restroom doors. He smiles and stands up. Mickey watches as he turns toward their eavesdroppers. With his package at eye level, he asks in his sweet Ian voice, “Would you ladies mind watching our hot chocolates for a few minutes?”

“Yes, please,” and “Of course, for sure,” they gush red faced and smiling.

“Thanks,” Ian gushes back smiling into their eyes. “This won’t take long.” He turns back to Mickey and swipes a fingerful of the remaining whip cream off his hot chocolate bringing it to his mouth. Then walks toward the restrooms, three sets of eyes watching his progress.

“Fucken walking orgasm, I swear to god.” He doesn’t have to look at the latest members of the Ian fan club to know that they’d trade places with him in a heartbeat.

 

Some time later, Ian has the door of his family home pressed to his back and the man he loves pressed to his front, when the door swings open without warning and he falls backwards into Lip’s chest. He hears two things simultaneously: “Kill me now for fuck’s sakes” and Mickey’s full-bodied chuckle.

 

 

**#bestboyfriendever**

Lip answers the door yet again. “You have got to be kidding me.”  

Mickey hands him a bouquet of dead flowers that had obviously been picked from under the skiff of snow covering some flowerbed in their neighborhood. “For you.”

Lip involuntarily takes the flowers that Mickey smashes into his chest.

“You seemed pretty disappointed that I didn’t bring you flowers last time.” Mickey smirks while Lip scowls at him. “Something bothering you, Philip? You jealous that your dick is home alone for the night while my hot date gives amazing fucking head?”

“I guess that’s my cue,” Ian says pulling Mickey out the door before he is forced to hear more of this conversation.

In the car, Ian turns to Mickey. “It’s like we’re royalty, driving everywhere. I’m getting spoiled.”

“Yeah, well, you ain’t seen nothing yet, Princess Buttercup. I’m taking your spoiled ass to a motherfucking country club.”

Ian nods impressed. “What exactly is a country club, anyway?”

Putting the car into gear, Mickey pulls away from the curb. “Fuck if I know. I didn’t go to the Christmas party last year and that was my first year working for the company.”

“You didn’t want to show up without a hot date who gives amazing fucking head?” Ian looks expectantly at his hot date who gives amazing fucking head.

“Exactly. Got an image to protect.”

“Seriously, though, I know this is a big deal for you, Mick, bringing your boyfriend to a work function.” Ian adjusts the buttons on the dash, trying to get some heat going.

“Whatever. One of the owners has a kid into some kind of kink so that opened the door, but the gun world ain’t exactly famous for it’s open-mindedness on this topic.”

“I’ll try to behave myself and, if I need to get on you, I’ll drag you into the coat room.” He turns his attention from the buttons on the heater to the buttons on the radio. “I won’t fuck you in the middle of the dance floor and give them show.”

“You ever been in a car before? Gotta touch every button, man?” Mickey rolls his eyes, but continues. “The gun world also ain’t known for being a bunch of pussies either. They can suck my dick if they got a problem with who sucks my dick.”

“Your dick getting sucked is starting to seem like the theme of the night.”

“More like the theme of my life.” He hooks his finger around Ian’s hand bringing it to his lips.

 

The evening goes well. Turns out a country club is just a fancy community hall with a big ass golf course around it that suckers pay a shit ton of money to eat and drink in. So while in Rome, they eat something called canapes, drink something called prosecco, discuss something called politics and just generally mill around thinking about Ian sucking Mickey’s dick.

The only abnormal activity throughout the evening is Mickey’s nearly constant photo ops. He takes a photo of the two of them drinking from their fancy wine glasses, smoking out on the deck in the frosty night air, standing in front of the giant Christmas tree in the foyer, laughing at a painting of a man in a big wig eating fruit.

He gets one of Ian kissing Mickey’s cheek while Ian holds up his middle finger to the camera. Mickey complains, “Hey, that’s my line, man. Get your own finger.”

Near the end of the evening, Ian heads to the restroom leaving Mickey discussing the merits of discontinuing printed catalogues in favor of on-line catalogues only.

While he’s washing his hands, Ian’s cell phone buzzes in his pocket. Pulling it out, he sees a string of Twitter notifications, all from Mickey. More tweets in one night apparently than he’s seen in all the months they’ve been together.

“Interesting,” he mutters, opening the app. His eyes widen at the sight of the tweets. All the pictures Mickey had taken that evening were up for the world of Twitter to see, each one containing the same message: #bestboyfriendever.

He steps out of the restroom, scanning the room for Mickey. Their eyes meet and Ian makes his way through the crowd, maintaining eye contact all the way. He is not even attempting to hold back any of what he is feeling and Mickey, god help him, can’t either, briefly exposing to the world the magnetic pull of equal parts love and lust that makes up their relationship.

Ian reaches him and says, “excuse us,” to the woman standing beside Mickey. He keeps walking toward the exit, stepping around the empty coat check desk into the rows of coats. Mickey following closely behind.

Ian turns around, his finger runs the length of Mickey’s silky tie. “Are you seriously posting our whole date to Twitter?”

“Yeah, you know I have quite a social media presence.” He quips, but his eyes are following Ian’s finger as it caresses his tie, up and down, up and down. “I’m, uh, gonna get a Facebook account just so I can update my relationship status.”

“To what?” They both watch as Ian wraps his hand around the tie.

“Gay for Ian.” Slowly the tie is pulled toward Ian.

“Then we better get you a proper profile picture.” Ian’s free hand holds up his phone as their lips touch.

Several minutes later, Mickey has quite a selection of profile pictures to choose from for his imaginary Facebook account. “Send me all those pictures, man. They are gonna get me through a lot of boring staff meetings.”

As they are flicking through the pictures, Ian’s phone buzzes with a Twitter notification from Mandy in response to Mickey’s tweets. #gross, it reads, with what looks like 100 sparkly red hearts.

 

 

**22**

“Happy birthday.” At the sound of Mickey’s voice, Ian opens his eyes and peers over the top of the comforter.

“That’s like the twentieth time you’ve told me that today.” A smile almost reaches Ian’s eyes.

“Important fucking day.” Moving away from the bedroom door toward the bed, Mickey carefully says, “Made us something to eat.”

“I can smell it. Bacon?”

“And burgers. And fries.”

Tears form in Ian’s eyes. “My favorites.”

“Course.”

Ian had been in bed all day sleeping off and on. Mickey was taking the next morning off work to drive him to the doctor to look at adjusting his medication. While it put a wrench in Mickey’s birthday plans, he was rolling with it hoping to find the right balance between letting Ian be and still making the day special.

“Do I have time to shower?” Ian asks, sitting up.

Mickey’s smile couldn’t possibly get bigger.

 

When Ian emerges from the bathroom in fresh track pants and t-shirt, there’s music coming from the docking station and candles lit on the little kitchen table. Mickey is in the galley kitchen clanking plates and closing drawers.

“Have a seat, man. Soup’s on.”

When the burger and fries arrive, Ian comments, “Candles? Music? Cooking? I could get used to this.”

“That would be very risky behavior,” Mickey passes him the Ketchup.

As they eat, Mickey fights the urge to wrap Ian in his arms and rock him like a sick child, and Ian fights the urge to crawl into bed and pull the covers over his head. Each wanting to make the situation easier on the other.

Mickey grabs their mostly empty plates and moves them to the kitchen. Returning he says, “Mandy made you birthday dessert.”

Ian’s eyes actually sparkle with hope for moment. “Cheesecake?”

The plastic dish Mickey sets on the table contains several mini Oreo cheesecake bites. “This shit looks good, man. Turns out Mandy is Julia fucking Childs.”

They each grab a mini cheesecake and grin as they bite into it. “Is there anything better than this?” Ian asks, stuffing the whole thing in his mouth and closing his eyes.

Mickey tilts his head. “Yeah, there is.” Ian opens his eyes to see himself reflected in Mickey’s eyes.

“Best birthday I’ve ever had.” Ian looks at Mickey closely. “I know you had other plans in mind and that my, my fucking head ruined those plans. You have to tell me if all this shit is too much for you, if you can’t take it.”

“There’s only one thing in this life that I can’t take and this ain’t it.” Mickey gets up and comes around to Ian’s side of the table. He holds out his hand. “Wanna dance?”

Ian puts his hand in Mickey’s and walks with him to the living room. They face each other in front of the patio window and slip their arms around each other’s waist. Their cheeks come together softly, resting like that for a moment.

Ian’s hips begin to sway, so Mickey follows with his own.

“Enya, Mick?” Ian asks, singing along to the music. “Did you make me a new playlist?”

“Yeah, it’s called Ian’s fucking romantic shit playlist.”

“You know me so well, smart ass.” He presses himself closer to Mickey, tears filling his eyes and his heart. “Seriously, 22 is off to a perfect start,” he adds, putting his hands in the back pockets of Mickey’s jeans.

“You haven’t even seen your birthday present yet.” Mickey can feel Ian’s cheek move with the smile on his face.  

“Where is it?” To this Mickey just shrugs.

Ian pulls back, looking around the room. He moves toward the table, but Mickey says, “Colder.” So Ian turns toward the living room sofa and after a few steps, “Colder.” A few more steps toward the bedroom door and he gets the same response.

Ian turns toward Mickey with a thoughtful expression and takes a step toward him, “Warmer.” And another step, “Warmer.” Until he’s back where he started face to face with Mickey, “Much warmer.”

Ian laughs lightly. He reaches his hand out toward the front of Mickey’s jeans and tilts his head. “Hotter,” Mickey laughs. Ian slides his hand to Mickey’s belly, “Hotter.” Then up to Mickey’s chest, “Hot!”

Ian grabs the hem of Mickey’s t-shirt in each hand and pulls it over his head. Before throwing it toward the back of the sofa, he brings it to his nose and sniffs deeply, closing his eyes in pleasure.

“Jesus, Ian, you are going to be the death of me.”

Opening his eyes, Ian places his fingers on Mickey’s chest again, touching his nipples. “Hot?” Mickey shakes his head. Ian moves his fingers to the tattoo below his left collarbone. “Hot,” Mickey announces.

Ian bends down a little to peer closely at the two old fashioned revolvers crossed at the muzzle that are carved into Mickey’s skin. He runs his fingers along the oversized barrels remembering the first time he did this less than two years ago. When his finger reaches the walnut grip of the left revolver, his eyes widen and he leans closer.

Engraved in the wooden grip panel in old fashioned font is the letter “I”. Ian shifts his eyes to the second gun and the matching “M”.

On a good day, Ian would be weepy and sentimental over this, but today he can’t even figure out how to deal with it, so he returns to his original position: buried in Mickey’s neck and back pockets.

“Happy birthday, sweetheart. Gonna love you for the rest of our lives. You now have that in writing.”

 

 

**Say Anything: Mickey Style**

Saturday, 10:37 am

Mickey: how was yev last nite

Ian: good we colored 1000 pix of dinosaurs b4 svet got home

Mickey: he stay in the lines

Ian: he’s your son whadaya think

Mickey: fucken Picasso, huh

Ian: yup

Mickey: hows work

Ian: at station house, slow day. Sell a lot of semi automatics?

Mickey: it’s the fucken US of A ain’t it

Ian: miss you <3 gonna go to next gun show with u. hotel sex!

Mickey: now Im hard. where you staying tonite after your shift

Ian: home                                                              

Mickey: home?

Ian: I mean Fi’s not the apartment

Ian: got a call! C u tmr xxxxxxxxxxxxxx

 

Done his 12-hour shift, Ian is nodding off in his single bed around 9:00pm when something crashes against the bedroom window. Getting up, he lifts the blinds and squints out the glass but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary, just the sun setting over the concrete jungle he lives in. Turning away, he hears the metallic strain of a synthesizer and Darren Hayes’ breathy moans coming through the window.

“What the fuck?” he wonders out loud, sliding the window frame up and leaning out to check the backyard. “Mickey?” The music is coming from the old school ghetto blaster in Mickey’s hand.

When his brain fully registers that Mickey Milkovich is standing in his backyard blaring _Insatiable_ for the world to hear and that Ian is leaning out his bedroom window, he almost passes out from the rush of blood to his head and other parts.

Listening to this song when he is getting busy alone and thinking about Mickey is almost more than he can bear, but hanging out his window listening to it while Mickey stares up at him is too fucking much. And Mickey damn well knows this is his go to song, so Ian gives him the finger. Mickey grins wickedly and blows him a kiss. Retaliating, Ian rubs his hand down the front of his pajama bottoms, mouthing lines from the song: _it bathes my skin, I’m stained in you_.

To Ian’s complete astonishment, Mickey sings the next line back to him: _all I have to do is hold you, there’s a racing within my heart_. Then lays his hand on his heart and Ian nearly falls out the window in his need to get to Mickey.

Turning away, Mickey sets the boom box on the ground and picks up a stack of large white signs. He smiles and shrugs, and Ian doesn’t have to be close to know that he is blushing in embarrassment, but he doesn’t hesitate. The first sign he holds above his head reads _Ian fucking Gallagher_ in black Sharpie.

Ian points to his chest and nods theatrically; his heart is racing in anticipation. He’ll pinch himself later too afraid if he does it now, he’ll discover that he really is dreaming.

Mickey lets the first sign fall to the ground. The next sign says: _You complete me_. Ian laughs out loud as that sign goes flying across the yard with a lot of force. Next: _Of all the gun shows, in all the towns, you had to walk into mine_. Ian nods his head and rests his chin in his hands waiting for the next romantic movie line.

The fourth sign reads: _You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, l love, I love you_. Mickey covers his face with that sign before peeking out at Ian and rolling his eyes. Ian makes a heart with his fingers and holds it over his chest. Mickey shakes his head.

Next: _Run Forrest Run._ Mickey turns the card toward his face and with a shake of his head, flips the card over _._ Mickey winks at him. _You make me want to be a better man_. At this he nods in agreement.

Then: _I would rather spend one lifetime with you, than spend all the ages of the world alone_. Ian is biting his lip to keep the torrent of emotions careening through his body in check.

Mickey drops the second last card, but before he flips the remaining card up for Ian to see, they pause smiling at each other across the yard like a scene from a production of Southside Romeo and Juliet, the lyrics of the song suspending the moment: _Can't close my eyes when I'm with you. Insatiable the way I'm loving you._

Ian presses his hand to his stomach and Mickey holds up the final card: _marry me, fucker?_

With wet eyes, Ian mimes thinking hard, then holds up his finger to indicate he needs a moment. He disappears into the bedroom coming back a few seconds later with a felt pen and the only thing he could find large enough to write on, his pillow case. When he’s done scribbling, he hangs out the window uncurling the material: _As you wish_.

A loud scream comes out of nowhere and Mandy tackles Mickey to the ground. They roll around while Ian climbs over the window ledge jumping onto the roof of the back porch then scrambling down the side of the porch to the ground.

Coming to his feet, Mickey comments, “That’s some sweet ass parkour, Spiderman,” when Ian stops in front of them.

Mandy throws herself at Ian and kisses him full on the lips. “My best friend is gonna be my brother. The only thing that could make me happier was if you were straight and marrying me. You assholes own me big time. Never gonna let you forget it,” she adds, backing out of the yard with her middle fingers extended and a smile in her eyes. “Never.”

“So, that was a yes, was it?” Mickey asks when they are alone.

“When he was saying ‘as you wish’, what he really meant was ‘I love you’,” Ian quotes. “You know that.”

“Inconceivable.”

“Our romantic movie marathons have paid off, huh?”

“I think you mean, your romantic movie marathons and my personal hell.”

“Deny all you want but that was pretty fucking romantic, Mick.”

“Pretty fucking gay. Had a little help from that crazy bitch,” he snarks pointing in the direction of Mandy’s exit.

As they stand there looking at each other, the last rays of the sun create a glow making the neighborhood almost beautiful. The moment seems surreal beyond anything either of these formerly forgotten boys could have dreamed about, having someone not only love you and know you and accept you but also be insatiable for more of you.

“So I complete you, huh?”

“Yeah, you goddamn romantic fucker. Gonna bust my balls about this, are you?”

“Only when they’re in my mouth, I promise.”

They smile and Mickey says, “Let’s go home and make out to that song.” Grabbing the ghetto blaster, he casually adds, “Give you some new material to work with when I’m out of town.”

“Gonna be awhile before I let you out of my sight. You should look up the word insatiable in the dictionary,” he smirks. “Means impossible to satisfy.”

“Don’t tell me what’s impossible, man. I’m all in for finding a way to satisfy you.”

“Looks like we got the rest of our lives to work on it.” And to seal the deal, they walk off into the goddamn sunset with every intention of living happily ever fucking after, damnit.

 

 

**Battle Scars**

“Fuck you, Mickey! You’re such an asshole,” Ian shouts at him from the far side of the kitchen island. His voice is cracking from the overwhelming number of emotions that are hurtling through his body. “You are cranky and mean as hell.”

“And you’ve never met a fucking emotion that you didn’t wanna fucking marry. Talk about holding on to shit with a death grip. Get the fuck over it.”

Ian’s face gets redder and tears leak from his eyes, but the prominent emotion of the moment is blind fury. He grabs the closest thing to his hand and hurls it at Mickey’s head. The salt shaker hits the wall and shatters to the ground.

“Well, I guess that’s like seven fucking years bad luck or some shit, Gallagher. About the same amount of time you’re gonna pout for?” Mickey curls his lip and crosses his arms in blatant contempt.

“Get the fuck out.”

“Finally, something sane out of your pouty ass mouth.” He grabs his jacket from the hook and slams the door to their house behind him with an unambiguous thud.

A thud that matches Ian’s heart in that moment.

 

Three hours later, Mickey inserts his key into the front door, which isn’t locked. As he enters, his senses are on high alert. He notices everything: the hall lamp lit, the slice of pie he hadn’t eaten covered with plastic wrap on the table, his lunch kit sitting open on the island ready for the morning, and Ian sleeping on the sofa with no blanket covering him.

Walking over to the sofa, he stares down at his husband’s closed eyes lost in shadows and his hand gripping the cell phone. He carefully pulls the phone out of Ian’s grip, but before he can set it on the coffee table, he notices the blinking blue light. Without forethought, he swipes and enters the password, revealing a text conversation.

8:47 pm

Ian: what r u doing right now

Carl: netflix n chll

Ian: u have a girlfriend?

Carl: if thats what u wanna call my hand

Ian: haha Mickey and I had a fight and he left

Carl: k

Ian: can you go to the Alibi? He’ll wanna get drunk and he has work tmr

Carl: on it

 

9:27 pm

Ian: well?

Carl: playin pool

Ian: how is he?

Carl: he’s mickey

Ian: does he seem ok?

Carl: want me to ask him

Ian: NO just keep him company. He shouldn’t be alone

Carl: are u alone

Ian: yeah but I’m better at it. Go play pool

 

10:40 pm

Ian: well?

Carl: watchin sports net

Ian: is he drunk?

Carl: no

Ian: thanks owe u one

Carl: np

 

Mickey puts the phone down, pulls his shirt over his head and grabs the blanket off the back of the chair. He slides in beside Ian and covers them up. “Hey, sweetheart,” he whispers in Ian’s ear.

“Mickey.” He can feel the relief in Ian’s voice like a slice through his heart.

“I fucked up. I was mean and I’m sorry.” He kisses Ian’s knuckles and places the hand on his heart below the tattoo. “This is you, every beat is you.”

“I love you. Don’t listen when I say leave. It’s unbearable waiting for you to get home.”

“Thanks for making my lunch. Did you poison it?”

Shrug.

Talking complete, they kiss and then kiss some more. They rub tongues and suck lips and nibble earlobes. They touch faces and hips and backs. They press together hoping, that if they try hard enough, they will eventually become one.

 

The day after the big fight, Mickey arrives home from work with the biggest box of Purdy’s salted caramel chocolates the store sells. Ian cuts his sandwich in four squares before putting it in Mickey’s lunch the next day, just how he’d once mentioned that his mom used to do.

The second day, Mickey enters the house with a huge bunch of red and green flowers because they are Ian colors. Ian irons the pile of work shirts that Mickey was never going to get around to ironing.

The third day, Mickey hands Ian a jewelry box that contains a dark leather cuff held together with a brushed silver fastener that Mickey had engraved. Ian holds the bracelet up to read: “Property of Mickey.” Ian spends the evening earning that label.


	2. The Care and Maintenance of Mickey Milkovich

**Tender**

“We both have a shit ton of insurance, Mickey, so you can drop the money argument.” Tap, tap goes Ian’s foot. “We’ve been going in circles for an hour. How do you know it’ll be horrible if you’ve never even been to the dentist?”

“I’m a fucking genius, that’s how. This toothache is a temporary thing anyway. It’ll go away.” He squeezes his eyes shut as, on cue, another bolt of pain shoots through his jaw. “I’ll pull the motherfucker out myself before I let some sadistic fuck dig around in my mouth.”

Ian can see the pain in Mickey’s eyes and could hear the grunts throughout the night. He touches his fingertips to Mickey’s cheek and he flinches, pulling his face away. “I didn’t think you were a pussy, baby.”

“Watch it, man.”

Ian grabs the car keys from the table. “Come on, tough guy. You scared the dentist is a monster?” He moves closer to the door, turns and locks eyes with Mickey. “Scaredy cat.”

“Go to hell.”

Ian opens the door wide gesturing toward the entrance while Mickey glares at him. “Bwaak, bwaak.”      

“Am I a cat or a chicken, prick?”

“Waah, waah, come on, big baby. I’ll hold your hand the whole time.”

“You can hold something else the whole time and then we got a fucking deal.”

“So I should have made you an appointment at one of the Happy Ending dentist offices, huh?” He drops his hand from the doorknob and walks toward Mickey. Slipping his arms around his waist, he rests his cheek against Mickey’s good cheek. “Please, Mick,” Ian whispers wrapping each word in love, chipping off the final piece of resistance Mickey still had left.

 

Ian is finishing a phone call just outside the dentist’s office when the door opens and Mickey walks out. “Thank you,” he says ending his phone call. “See you this afternoon.”

His eyes scan Mickey looking for anything off. “How are you feeling?”

“Peachy.” His voice is hoarse and his bottom lip isn’t moving when he speaks, but the sadistic fucker digging around in his mouth appears to have left his cranky disposition intact.

Ian holds his arms open. “Come here.”

“I’m not a fucking baby,” he snaps, “or a cat.” But apparently Ian’s welcoming arms are too much for him to withstand. He walks into them and rests his forehead on Ian’s chest, sighing, letting his shoulders relax. “Who were you on the phone with?”

Ian rubs his back and then tightens his arms, locking his fingers together in a vise. “Doctor’s office.”

“Ian! No!”

“Shhh. Let’s get it over with.”

 

 

**Lovin’**

Ian is pacing between the tiny galley kitchen and the even tinier dining room of their apartment. He’s mostly unaware that Mickey is rolling his eyes and nodding sarcastically. “The one casserole has to go in the oven for at least an hour, so you’ll need to plan ahead for that. Don’t forget to remove the sticky note with cooking instructions before you put it in the oven. Oh, and—“

“I think I’ll survive without you for three goddamn days, mom.” Mickey throws his hands in the air.

“Yeah, but you’ll eat shit all day and then you won’t feel good and get all grumpy, well grumpier,” he explains with patience before returning to the topic prominent in his mind. “I also told Mandy to stop by tomorrow night.”

“Seriously? Did you leave all the emergency numbers on the fridge for my babysitter?” Mickey complains starting to feel his hackles rise.

“No, actually, that’s probably a good idea,” he says reaching for the always present notepad.

“Just fucken stop, man.” Mickey grabs the pad before Ian can get to it and holds it behind his back. “What the hell is going on with you? We’ve been apart tons of times when I go to gun shows out of town, and you don’t get all psycho on me.”

Ian pulls the chair out from the kitchen table and drops down into it like he’s out of steam. He brings the heels of his hands to his forehead and presses. “This is the first time I’ve left you.”

Mickey’s face softens and he walks over to Ian bending to put his hand on his shoulder so their faces are close. “You coming back?”

“Yes,” Ian sighs.

“Cause you made enough food for me to survive for, like, a year.” He looks closely at Ian’s face and doesn’t see a lightening in his features, so he sits down on Ian’s knee and grabs the pen from across the table. He brings it to the pad in his hand and starts writing.

Once he’s finished, he rips the top sheet off the pad and hands it to Ian who reads:

  * Return home on Tuesday
  * Make love to Mickey for approx. 1 hour at 5000° F
  * Test for doneness by sticking a finger in him
  * Done cooking when he falls apart in your mouth



He sees the lightness in Ian’s features he was looking for at the same moment Ian’s phone buzzes and bounces on the table. “Your ride’s here.”

They walk to the door, Ian grabbing his duffle bag and Mickey handing him his phone. “I’ll text you more detailed cooking instructions and let you know when the dough rises.”

Ian laughs his way out the door and down the hall, calling over his shoulder, “It may require more kneading when I get home.”

Mickey watches his heart skip down the stairs and disappear. “Fuck, he better come home.”

 

 

**Care**

Kev: loverboys here gettin shitfaced

Kev: not the pretty kind either, the FUCK U-UP kind

Ian was just finishing replacing the burn sheets and jel packs to the ambulance supply bags after their last emergency call when he felt the buzz of the incoming texts. Looking down at his phone, he frowns confused. He’d texted with Mickey early that afternoon, and his husband said he was going to hang around the apartment playing video games with Ian suggesting that his Call of Duty be in the kitchen doing dishes and Mickey suggesting that this is Ian’s Final Fantasy.

They’d ended their conversation with Mickey teasing him about the pile of colored sticky notes Ian had brought home from the dollar store and left on the kitchen table. Ian swiped the phone screen showing the final messages of their conversation:

Mickey: I fucken luv u and ur crazy sticky note fetish

Ian: leave yourself a note 2b naked at midnight

Mickey: what color sticky should I use

Ian: pink

Mickey: gay af

Concerned now that Mickey was angry drinking, he shoots off a new text to him:

Ian: hey how’s it going

Then another in response to Kev:

Ian: any idea Y

Kev: not rly but I learned some new cuss words 2nte

Ian: OMW

Jumping down from the truck, Ian heads to the office to discuss leaving early. He still has a little over an hour left of his shift, but he doesn’t want to wait that long to see what’s going on with Mickey.

 

While waiting for his Uber to arrive, Ian finally gets a response from Mickey:

Mickey: fucken A       

Ian: what are you doing

Mickey: kickin some fuckers ass at pool

Ian: where r u

Mickey: Alibi

Ian: thought u were staying home

Mickey: changed my mind mom

Ian can feel the aggression coming through each text but he doesn’t want to get into the specifics until he’s in the same room as Mickey. Still, it’d be nice to have a damn clue.

Ian: love u

No response as the Uber pulls up and Ian gets in.

Ian: lots

Mickey: ya, dont no y

This is a surprise to Ian and a bit of a clue. Mickey wears his confidence and strength like a badge of honor; even when he’s weakened, he doesn’t go down without a fight. When he needs reassurance or a boost from Ian, he goes about it slyly. He doesn’t say shit like this.

Ian: bc ur a bitch slappin shit talkin SS ex thug who loves me to death

Mickey: dont deserve u

Ian glances at the driver’s speedometer to see if he could prod him along, but they are already slightly above the speed limit. So he bounces his knee faster instead.

Mickey: dont deserve any a this

Okay, this is worse than Ian thought. What could make Mickey this forlorn? Ian knows that he has the power to bring Mickey to his knees if he were to hurt him. What or who else has this power? Yev? He would know if something had happened to Yev, plus this seems more like anger and self loathing combined with grief.

Fucking Terry!

Now he does turn to the driver and offer him an extra twenty if he hurries the hell up.

Ian: don’t talk about my husband that way I love him

Mickey: lots of faggots in the ocean man u could do better

Thank god the car pulls up at that moment as Ian isn’t sure how to respond beyond WTF. He asks the Uber driver to wait, explaining that if he isn’t out in ten minutes he’ll hit the pay option. Otherwise, they’ll need a ride home.

The Alibi door swings open and the faces at the bar turn to look at him. He knows them all, but one in particular sets his teeth on edge. “Fucking Frank,” he mutters. He strides purposefully inside while making eye contact with Kev, hoping to get more intel. Kev just nods and shoves his thumb in the direction of the pool table.

He wouldn’t have needed the direction as he can hear Mickey all the way from the front of the bar. He’s throwing curses and threats at the young punk playing pool. As Ian moves toward the pool table, Frank swivels in his bar stool to face Ian. “Let me give you a piece of advice, son.” He lifts his beer glass in the air as though he’s giving a toast at a wedding. “Marriage maketh a man,” he begins but pauses to drain his glass of beer giving Ian the chance to get past him without having to hear the conclusion to this helpful nugget.

“I’d be happy to measure the distance from your big fucking mouth to your asshole by shoving this pool cue up it,” Mickey snarls at the tattooed kid who looks vaguely familiar in a younger brother of someone he knows sort of way.

“I’m not the one who likes things shoved up their ass, man,” the kid responds and Ian’s heart clenches. What was this idiot thinking poking the bear?

“What did you just say?” It actually felt like the occupants of the bar collectively hushed as Mickey sits the pool cue on the table and turns to his prey. He hadn’t noticed Ian yet and wouldn’t at this point as he was now blinded with bloodlust.

Ian doesn’t get a chance to see if the kid is regretting his words because he steps in front of Mickey and lays his hand against his wildly beating heart. Mickey slowly looks from the kid, to the hand on his chest and finally into Ian’s eyes. He blinks and a film of tears appears. They stare at each other for a few seconds before Mickey drops his eyes.

“Ian, Terry’s dead,” he whispers brokenly.

Ian grabs Mickey’s jacket off the stool behind him, and turns to glare at the kid as he links his fingers through Mickey’s and pulls him toward the door. As they pass Frank, he starts to open his mouth with more fatherly advice but Ian interrupts him, “I can still let Mickey loose with that pool cue, Frank, and I’ll point him in your direction.”

“Ungrateful as usual.”

The Uber is waiting and takes them the short distance home. They sit silently holding hands and Mickey rests his head on Ian’s shoulder closing his eyes.

 

In their apartment, Mickey sinks into the sofa as soon as he walks through the door. His head falls back on the sofa edge and a groan leaks from deep in his chest. Ian removes his own shoes before kneeling in front of Mickey to pull his off. He pulls his socks off and then reaches up to pull Mickey’s shirt over his head. One of the tears lining the rim of his eyes falls down his cheek, and Ian moves to sit beside him on the sofa.

Sluggishly, Mickey lifts his leg over Ian’s lap and brings his knees in close to Ian’s hips and his arms around Ian’s shoulders, fitting their bodies together seamlessly. Ian’s arms tighten around his waist as he nuzzles his face into Ian’s neck. And cries.

It’s mostly soundless except for the occasional intake of air, but it’s also violent. His shoulders and back are rigid and shaking with each sob. Ian’s neck is wet with tears and snot and spit. He’s never been so thankful for anything in his life.

Eventually Mickey falls asleep on Ian’s shoulder, the alcohol and emotional ride a toxic combination. Willing to sit in this position himself until the end of time, Ian knows that Mickey will be stiff and sore if he doesn’t move soon. Ian turns his head until he finds Mickey’s lips and, in true Disney fashion, kisses him awake.

“Hey, Sleeping Beauty, I’m going to carry you to bed, but you’ll need to wrap your legs around my waist,” Ian whispers, shifting his body to the edge of the sofa.

“Nah not a girl,” Mickey murmurs while wrapping his legs around Ian’s waist.

With a grunt, Ian is up and heading to the bedroom. After laying Mickey on the bed, he finishes undressing him then watches him curl into the fetal position. Ian quickly gathers water and pain reliever and then undresses himself.

Sliding under the covers, he curls around Mickey’s back bringing him close, but Mickey pulls away slightly. He turns to face Ian, resting his head on Ian’s arm and his face against his chest. Letting out a big sigh, he presses the rest of his body against Ian’s and wraps his arm around Ian’s waist to keep them locked together.

Ian places light kisses on the top of his head before laying his cheek there, his hand running up and down his spine soothing him back to sleep. God help him, if he thought he was a goner where Mickey Milkovich was concerned, this was next level love.

**Go!**

Ian advances on Mickey, coming around the kitchen table with his hand held out expectantly and fire in his eyes. Mickey backs away while putting his phone to sleep. He stops when he bumps into the back of the sofa, successfully blocking any escape from Ian.

“What are you hiding from me?” He grabs for Mickey’s cell phone but doesn’t make contact. 

“Nothing, man, just drop it.” Mickey pushes the phone as deep into his pocket as it will go.

“You think I’m afraid to stick my hand down your pants to get the phone?” This gives them each pause for a moment before they resume the fight.

“Don’t you trust me, Ian?”

They eye each other over those fighting words. Ian taps his foot; Mickey chews his cheek.

Calming himself before he speaks, Ian explains, “I _trust_ you to pamper me. I _trust_ you to protect me. I _trust_ you to sacrifice for me. I _trust_ you to love me unconditionally and with your whole heart. Until death do us part. In fact, I would _trust_ you to throw yourself in front of a bus to save me.”

“I guess we’ve settled that, then. I win,” he responds, knowing full well he hadn’t just won. He never did.

“But I do _not_ trust you to always treat me like an adult.” Holding out his hand for the phone.

“Stubborn prick.”

“Takes one to know one.”

“Well, come and get it.” He raises his eyebrows at Ian’s look. “Might as well make it worth my fucking while.” Ian slides his hand into Mickey’s pocket, working hard to keep the smirk off his face.

“Brat,” he says pulling the phone out and swiping the screen.

“Don’t bitch at me about this, man. Remember you asked for it. I was gonna throw myself in front of this bus.” With that, he sits on the back of the sofa waiting for Ian’s reaction.

Ian glances down at the text conversation, scrolling up to follow the back and forth between Mickey and his boss. His brow furrows as the information comes together to form the reason Mickey was reluctant to share it with him.

“St Louis, Missouri?”

“Apparently.”

“Start in two months.”

“Yeah.”

“They really believe in you.”

“Guess.”

“One year.”

“Yup.”

“Shit.”

Shrug.

 

They finish supper and even do the dishes in an effort to fill their time with anything other than the conversation they need to have. But it’s time. They put their shoes and jackets on to walk to the store for smokes.

On the sidewalk, Ian brushes up against Mickey, looking for connection and reassurance. Mickey twines their fingers, not in the mood to give a shit who sees them. He rubs Ian’s wedding band with his thumb finding his own connection and reassurance.

Outside the store, Mickey lights them cigarettes and leans against the bike rack. “Spit it out, Gallagher.”

“I’m freaking out.”

“Uh, yeah.”

“I need more information.”

“Well, first off, this shit ain’t happening if it means we’re not together or if you’re gonna be on edge all the time. Simple as that, man.” He eyes Ian through the smoke he blows out. “Yeah?”

“Okay. Is this something you want to do?” Ian comes closer to Mickey, tilting his head to get a good look at his face when he answers the question.

“I want to be your husband. The rest is details. But it’d be cool to set up a gun shop and shooting centre, sure. I got some ideas for how that shit should go down. But it’s not my life’s dream or whatever.” He chucks the filter to the ground and crushes it. “There are some perks to going, like with the bonus I’ll get if I do this shit right, we could probably look at buying a house when we get home.”

“A house? Really? I like the sounds of that.” He pulls Mickey away from the bike rack and they start for their apartment.

“There’s also some stuff to figure out. It’s only 4 hours away, so we could set up a schedule for seeing Yev.”

Ian stops. “Yev! God, what if he needs us and we’re so far away?” His hand is pressed to his stomach and he is looking off in the distance, obviously seeing a desperate Yev needing his two dads but able to reach them.

“Ian,” Mickey shakes his shoulder to get his attention. “Let’s drop it now. It’s a dumb idea. Come on, I’m tired.”

But Ian isn’t moving. “No, Mick. This is what I’m talking about. You, _we_ both need to let me feel shit and fret and see that we’re gonna be fine. That I’m not going to fall apart if the fucking mail is delivered late or if we take a chance on something.” He moves his hand from his stomach to Mickey’s chest and breathes deeply. Mickey nods.

They resume walking hand in hand. “I’d have to leave my job, maybe get a leave of absence or something. I wonder if I could find work down there. Or maybe I could upgrade.”

Mickey lets Ian ramble all the way home, knowing that he is sorting everything out to see if it fits into his neat little boxes. He traces circles on the palm of Ian’s hand to help keep him centered.

 

Ian is sitting up in bed, looking at the moonlight coming through the crack in the curtains and landing on Mickey’s bare back. He reaches over to kiss his spine from top to bottom. “Don’t stop there,” Mickey mumbles into his pillow. So Ian kisses his way all over the hills and valleys of Mickey’s body.

He uses his hands and his mouth to bring Mickey to the edge before stretching back up and laying fully on top of his husband, chest pressing into Mickey’s back. He breathes into his ear and kisses any exposed skin he can reach there as well. “Tell me what you want, Mick.”

“Your dick, obviously.”

“To stay here or to go to St. Louis?” he asks as he enters Mickey.

“Don’t matter, man,” Mickey grounds out.

“To stay or to go?” Ian repeats and stills his hips.

“Come on, don’t be a dick, use your dick.”

Ian moves again faster and harder, lifting Mickey up by his pelvic bones while putting all his weight on his back.

He stops. “Stay or go?”

“Fuck you, Ian.” Mickey’s voice is muffled by the sheets but the venom is coming through loud and clear.

He starts again but slower, letting Mickey think he is off the hook. He slides his hands around to grab onto Mickey’s chest pulling him up until they are kneeling on the bed and Mickey is leaning heavily against him, head resting back on Ian’s shoulder. Mickey pushes down against him.

“You feel so good, Mick.” Ian’s hands are all over him, grabbing and stroking his throat, his chest, he abdomen, his hips but not the one spot he needs.

Then again abruptly, Ian stops moving his hips and lowers his hands to his sides.

“Motherfucker!”

“Just answer the question,” Ian insists, trailing his finger along Mickey’s hipbone. Mickey drops his eyes to watch, hoping this is going somewhere.

“Come on. Fuck…please?” He grabs Ian’s hand placing it on his dick, but Ian only rubs lightly, so Mickey pushes his hand away and grabs himself starting to stroke.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mickey.” He pauses in his strokes, debating Ian’s seriousness and then drops his hand with a huff.

Ian moves his hips an inch. “How’s that, enough?”

“You are gonna fucking pay for this.”

“Sucks when someone is stubbornly refusing you, doesn’t it?”

Without warning, Ian resumes his pace full force, hands everywhere Mickey needs them. Mickey is gasping when Ian grabs the back of his hair and pulls his face toward Ian’s. “Answer the goddamn question, now. Or I stop—for good. Stay or go?”

“GO! Motherfucker!” Mickey drops to his hands and knees. “Go.”

And they did in that instant and two months later.

 

**Story Time**

“And then what will you do?”

“I’ll lick the tip, of course.”

Mickey is riding shotgun, begrudgingly accompanying Ian to Costco. Needless to say, he hadn’t gotten in the car without testing nearly every one of the tricks in Ian’s bag of tricks, including Story Time with Ian.

 

“I hate that place. I hate the parking lot. I hate the smug greeter acting like we’re entering the Crystal fucking Place. I hate all the stupid shit they sell and above all I hate waiting in stupid line to pay for stupid shit.”

Ian responds by walking toward the front door, mentioning over his shoulder that when they get home, he’ll be too busy giving Mickey head to put all their purchases away. He doesn’t have to turn around to know he has Mickey’s attention. Trick number one, invoke oral sex.

Bending over to pull on his sneakers, he makes sure that Mickey has a clear view of his ass. He sees feet in his line of vision before he finishes tying both shoes. Trick number two, distract with hot body parts.

He drops to his knees and pushes one of Mickey’s boots toward him, looking up at Mickey through his lashes. Trick number 3, appear submissive and eager to please.

Mickey shoves his foot in the boot and Ian ties the laces. As the second foot slides into the boot, Ian runs his fingers along Mickey’s calf under his pant leg. Trick number 4, lots and lots of touching.

And of course, trick number 5, Story Time with Ian used for emergencies only.

As Ian dumps the totes into Mickey’s arms to carry to the car, he explains in detail what he’ll be doing with his tongue when they get home. Costco was a DEFCON one emergency.

 

Ian is glancing down the aisles trying to remember where the replacement heads for the electric toothbrush are kept, but can feel the animosity oozing from Mickey’s small frame. A stout woman has parked her cart in front of Mickey’s so she can grab a sample of garlic bread.

Ian places his fingers on the handle of the chart rubbing his pinky against Mickey’s, which draws his attention. Under his breath, he describes to Mickey how deep inside Ian’s mouth he’ll be and just how much he wants it that deep. Dodging that bullet, they grab their toothbrushes and head to the exit.

One hurdle left: the check out line.

Ian sighs when he sees the wall of carts and people and stupid shit. It doesn’t take much brain power to know that Mickey’s deeply ingrained fight or flight impulse is going haywire. By the look on his face, fight is overtaking flight.

Before Mickey can start smashing their cart into all the other carts, Ian turns to him, using his body to block the view of his index finger slipping underneath the waistband of Mickey’s jeans. He runs his finger along the smooth skin of his hipbone, then dips a little lower. “Weren’t you wondering what I was doing with my fingers during the story?” he whispers.

Mickey turns to him and Ian can see the moment when the fight instinct becomes the fuck instinct. “I’m listening.”

 

**Clean Sheet Day**

“Mickey!” Ian is wiping the bathroom sink when Mickey enters the room with eyebrows raised in question. “You left the toilet running.”

“Mhm.”

“Water bill is gonna be high.”

“Your crystal ball tell you that, Oz?”

“You’re mixing metaphors,” Ian smirks. “And no, it’s wasting water when it runs.”

“Yeah, you conduct an experiment. With beakers and shit?”

 

“Mickey!” Ian is pulling clothes out of the washing machine when Mickey enters the laundry room scowling. “You’re putting too much soap in the dispenser. Front loaders don’t need as much.”

“How do you know how much soap I used? Got a nanny cam set up?”

“There’s soap left on the clothes.”

“Maybe the washer is broke.”

 

“Mickey!” Ian is bending over the dishwasher when Mickey enters the kitchen pouting. “You’re overfilling the dishwasher. The dishes aren’t coming out clean.”

Ian holds up a plate with food caked on the edges. Mickey walks over, grabs the plate, opens the patio door and throws the plate frisbee-style into the backyard. “You were saying?”

“Brat.”

 

“Mickey, come in the bedroom. There’s something I’d like to show you.” Ian can hear the slow shuffling of his husband’s feet, dreading the next bitch session that Ian has in store for him. He grins wide when Mickey enters the room reluctantly.

“What the hell?!”

“Clean sheet day, baby.” Ian is laying naked on those clean sheets.

“You know I love clean sheet day. It’s the only fucking reason I put up with your shit all day, but what the fuck have you done?”

Ian’s grin widens. “Come and see.”

Taking a few steps forward, Mickey mutters, “You’re freaking me the fuck out, Ian.”

“Manscaping is a thing now. According to surveys, all the ladies like it.” Ian is fighting to keep from laughing out loud at the look on Mickey’s face, unsure what’s bothering him more: the word manscaping or the idea that ladies like it.

“Apparently, keeping the area cleaned up makes your junk look bigger,” Ian adds lightly.

“Yeah, like you need to worry about that.”

 “I’m calling this,” Ian gestures to the new pattern adoring the area in question, “the landing strip.”

“Jesus Christ.” Mickey holds his hand up in self preservation. “Why do you do this shit to me?”

“Because, you grumpy old man,” he teases, “it’s fun. And getting you to have fun is what I was put on this earth to do.”

“I’m fucking fun,” he growls.

“You gotta let your hair down more, Mick.”

“If I let it down, you’ll try to shave it,” he says shivering dramatically.

“It’s gonna happen, just a matter of how long you can hold out.”

“No fucking way, you’re not getting a razor anywhere near my cock.”

“Come on, it’s sexy. I’ll be real gentle and I promise to kiss it all better when I’m done.” He puts his finger to his lip looking thoughtful then holds it up. “We can give you the lightening bolt.”

“Dream on, man.”

“Mickey,” Ian’s voice drops a couple of octaves, and he runs his fingers over the strip of hair running straight down from his belly button. “I want to have some fun. Will you have fun with me? Please.”

Arms crossed, lips pursed, eyebrows pulled low. But Mickey’s eyes give him away. They both know that Ian’s charm has always been his undoing.

Ian looks down at his fingers running over the newly exposed skin. “Come and feel it. Smooth, like silk.”

Coming to the edge of the bed, Mickey reaches out his hand but Ian knocks it away. “No hands. You need to get the full experience.”

“What the hell does that mean?” he asks but sinks his hip to the edge of the bed.

“It means find something else to test the softness with. Like your nose or your cheek or your tongue, or your--.” He points and flicks his eyebrows.

Mickey closes his eyes and bends over looking a lot like he is about to pray for deliverance. He brings first his nose then his cheek to the newly smooth area. Rubbing lightly, a little moan escapes his lips.

“Did you just moan?” Ian asks lifting his head from the pillow to peer at Mickey.

“No!” But he can’t resist another rub. “Maybe, I was thinking about the clean sheets.”

“Ah, yeah, the clean sheets feel good, don’t they?”

“I could probably get used to clean sheets.”

“Me too. How about we get these clean sheets dirty, Mickey?”

“Then we can put them in the fucking front loader.”

 

 

**Get Away**

“Mickey, did you pack extra socks? What about your toothbrush?” Ian is coming up the stairs toward the bedroom.

“I’m not 10 years old,” Mickey grumbles from inside the bedroom.

Ian arrives at the doorway of their room to see Mickey wrestling with the zipper of his duffle. He looks up at Ian with defiant eyes, but Ian just tilts his head and taps his foot. The knowing look on his face saying everything that needs to be said.

“Oh, fine.” Mickey unzips the duffle. “Start the fucking list.”

After reaching the end of Ian’s packing To-Do list, Mickey only has to grab spare socks and a toothbrush. He stomps his feet extra hard on the way to the bathroom to get the toothbrush and leaves the sock drawer open after grabbing his spare socks, glancing at Ian for confirmation that the open drawer will crawl under his skin and eat away at him. But Ian is looking at him like something else is under his skin.

“What are you looking at me like that for?”

“You know that crabby, sulky Mickey is my favorite Mickey.”

 

 

**Ho Ho Holy Shit, Ian**

The lightly falling snow appears nostalgic from the warm comfort of the living room. Ian must have come down and plugged the Christmas tree lights in early because the tiny colorful lights were reflecting off the frosted window. A handful of presents still waited under the tree to be opened.

“Hurry the fuck up, Ian. I wanna see what you got me,” Mickey hollers from the sofa. He’s sitting in the robe he got for Christmas last year, drinking coffee and eating a seriously oversized piece of chocolate yule log he’d brought home from Fiona’s the previous night.

Ian had ordered him downstairs at least 15 minutes ago to make coffee and his patience was wearing thin. While he liked a good present as much as the next guy, Ian had been giving him extra special Christmas presents for a few years now, and it was killing him to know what he was getting this year.

“Santa baby, hurry down the chimney tonight,” Ian purrs as he enters the living room wearing the Santa hat he’d unveiled last night to entertain their nieces and nephews. He sashays toward Mickey. “Hurry down the chimney tonight.”

“Oh, Ian. What am I go--.”

He’s cut off when Ian stops abruptly in front of him. “What are you eating?”

Mickey looks down at his plate. “Nothing.”

“I swear to god, Mickey. You are going to send me to an early grave.”

“Not even the Grim Reaper could stop you once you start nagging.”

“I’m seriously rethinking this gift I got you.”

Mickey all but throws his plate on the coffee table. “I’ll eat an apple, yeah?”

 

Surrounded by torn wrapping paper, Mickey eyes all the thoughtful gifts Ian had given him—a bottle of Mocambo rum shaped like a revolver, tickets to a Blackhawks game and all of his favorite lottery tickets—and Mickey was miserable. He was trying not to show his disappointment because he knew that Ian had spent about 500 times more time picking presents than he had, but he felt like Santa baby had totally fucked him over.

He looks over at Ian, who is arranging the stacks of colored sticky notes he got in his stocking into what looks like the rainbow. The scowl on Mickey’s face drawing Ian’s attention. “Come on, let’s go get dressed and go for a walk,” Ian suggests and stands up to fortify the request.

“A walk? Are you fucking kidding me? It’s goddamn Christmas. Who goes for a walk on Christmas? Supposed to eat until you pass out not fucking exercise,” he complains, taking out his disappointment on a topic that wouldn’t hurt Ian’s feelings.

“We’ll eat until we pass out when Yev gets here with his new girlfriend.”

“And what’s that about? What kid lets his mom set him up?” Mickey continues to grumble.

“I’m sure she’s a nice Russian girl.”

“Is that even a thing? God almighty. One crazy Russian in the family is more than enough.”

“You okay, Mick? I think you need some fresh air. Come on,” he grabs Mickey’s hand, “Santa baby.”

Ian gets back into sashay mode singing robustly as he climbs the stairs. Mickey follows behind, so he doesn’t see Ian grinning from ear to ear.

“Worst Christmas ever,” Mickey pouts.

 

“Holy mother of god and sweet baby Jesus and who the fuck ever else I can get down on my knees to thank,” Mickey sputters.

“Now that we have this, you won’t need to get on your knees.”

“Is this what I think it is, Ian?” Mickey stares at his real Christmas gift, a black faux leather lounger sitting at the end of their bed. The plush S-shaped piece of sex furniture has a taller curve at one end with a rounded headrest, and a lower curved end with an array of padded black velvet bondage cuffs currently sitting on it.

“Um, do you think it’s the Liberator Black Label Esse? Cause that’s the fancy ass name for this.” Ian motions to the bed, where several bottles of water and some snacks are sitting. “We have five hours until Yev gets here and I don’t want you to die from dehydration.”

Mickey moans, “I don’t even know where we start?”

“Good thing I read the manual.”

“There’s a manual,” he whispers reverently. “I think I just came, Ian.”

“If you keep looking at the lounger that way, I’m gonna get jealous,” Ian objects pushing his lip out in a pout as he reaches forward to pull the belt holding Mickey’s robe closed.

“Believe me when I look at that thing, I’m seeing you and everything you are going to be doing to me.” His robe falls open as the end of the belt zips through the loops.

“Off,” Ian commands, and the robe hits the floor.

“I can see how you are going to be able to use this thing as a weapon against me, get me to do shit around the house I don’t want to do. Gonna end up your sex slave chained to this thing.” Ian smiles evilly, securing one end of the belt around Mickey’s wrist. “Right, Ian?”

“Yes, Mickey,” Ian answers bending down to loop the other end of the belt through one of the dozen chrome D-rings connected to the velvet base of the lounger. As he pulls the belt through the connector, the force pulls Mickey to the center of the lounger and down. “Straddle it.”

He slides into the dip in the center of the lounger. “Looks like we got a lifetime supply of leather cuffs, so why you kicking it old school bondage right now?” Mickey asks, watching Ian pull the belt out of the loops of his robe and bring the end to Mickey’s other wrist.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Ian replies yanking hard on the belt to keep Mickey secure. “So you like your Christmas present?”

“Best fucking Christmas ever,” he confesses.


	3. Happily Ever Fucking After

**Child’s Play**

They stare down at the tiny girl laying in a pile of blankets on the living room floor. She’s not freaking out, but the atmosphere around her is definitely charged.

“I’m not doing it!” Mickey crosses his arms in his “nothing you can do will change my mind so don’t even try because I stopped listening” stance.

“Surely you changed Yev’s diaper when he was a baby.”

“Well, yeah, but I get his junk. I got the same junk. No way am I touching,” he looks at the 2-month old, “her junk.”

“Come on, you big baby.” Ian kneels in front of their granddaughter. Mickey kneels behind Ian, looking over his shoulder. “If we don’t get a handle on this, Darya is not going to let us watch her again, and I plan to spend as much time with her as I can get.”

“Um,” Mickey says, chewing on his lip.

“Um?”

“Yev says we have to--.”

Ian turns his head until his nose bumps Mickey’s. “Have to what? Spit it out, man.”

He chokes out one more word: “wipe.”

“Uh huh, we have to wipe?”

“From, Jesus, front to back.”

Ian pulls his hand back from Nika, “Oh-kay, then.”

 

\-------------------------------

 

Mickey rolls over and opens tired eyes. The room is hot as hell and it’s still dark but the space beside him in the bed is empty. When he’d fallen asleep, the space was jam packed with a sick Ian and a sick Yev, a box of tissues, a pile of books and a herd of dinosaurs. Now it’s like aliens had sucked everything up without leaving a trace, not even a crop circle.

Feeling guilty that he’d fallen asleep so deeply that he didn’t hear his husband or son get up, he heads into the living room. Nothing. He checks Yev’s room. Nothing. What the hell? As he turns back to the living room, he hears murmuring coming from the apartment’s patio doors.

Stealth-like he approaches the patio and stops before Ian or Yev can see him, watching them on the old recliner they’d set up out there to encourage outdoor smoking. Ian has the recliner laid out almost flat with Yev draped over him. The members of the mini dinosaur kingdom are lined up along the arms of the chair looking out at the city lights, except for a pachysefulsomethingorother that’s keeping guard on Ian’s shoulder.

“What if we had feet at the end of our arms?” Yev asks holding out his hands like feet for Ian to see and consider.

“We’d have to buy more socks,” Ian replies, yawning.

“Why is the moon called the moon?”

“Cause sun was already taken.” Mickey can hear the exhaustion in Ian’s voice as well as the infinite patience. He watches Ian’s hand brush Yev’s hair back from his forehead in soothing patterns as Yev coughs and sniffs.

“What does _sexy_ mean?”

Ian’s hand stops and Mickey mashes his lips together to stop the shocked laugh forcing its way up.

“Um,” Ian stops, so Yev continues. “You called other dad that when he was eating his pancakes and got syrup all over his chin. Am I sexy when I got syrup on my chin?”

Now Mickey wants to laugh out loud at Ian’s distress, but he wants to see this play out more, so he keeps quiet.

Ignoring the second question, Ian replies, “It means you like looking at someone because they’re beautiful.” He lets out a breath thinking he’s found a nice balance of truth and self preservation.

Yev, however, isn’t about to let Ian off the hook that easy. He turns on his side. “I think my teacher is sexy. I like looking at her cause she smiles all the time.” Walking one of his dinosaurs along Ian’s arm, he continues, “But I don’t wanna kiss her like you kiss dad. Is that why you wanna kiss him cause he’s sexy?”

“Yup,” Ian agrees realizing there’s no easy way out. “I like looking at him and I like being with him and I like kissing him. Therefore, I think he’s sexy.”

“Maybe my teacher isn’t sexy. But I guess I think dad is sexy then cause I like all those things too.” He continues his animal migration, moving more dinosaurs onto Ian’s arm. “But I don’t think I wanna stick my tongue in dad’s mouth.”

He looks up at Ian probably about to ask why he puts his tongue in Mickey’s mouth, but his eyes light up instead. “Daddy!”

Mickey comes forward, snagging Yev under the arms and lifting him off Ian. “It’s time to head back to bed. You’re wearing your dad out, kid.”

“Wait! I need my diplodocus. He’s not feeling good and needs to sleep with me tonight.” As Yev reaches down to grab the long neck of his dinosaur, Mickey bends with him and slips his tongue into Ian’s mouth. Yev wrinkles his nose.

As they head toward the boy’s bedroom, he asks, “Daddy, what’s sperm?” Ian laughs his way to bed.

 

\-------------------------------

 

“Grandpa Mickey Mouse! Where are you?” Nika yells running into the living room where Mickey is napping on the sofa. “You said you’d play Barbies with me. You promised.” He opens one eye as a blonde stick hits him in the cheek and a dark haired 4-year-old lands on his mid-section.

“You’re this one and I’m this one.” She holds up her doll in case he needs clarification. “You gotta open both eyes to play with me.”

It was probably karma that saw fit to give this ball of hellfire his impressive eyebrows, which she was currently using to intimidate him. While Yev had Ian’s charm and loving nature, Yev’s daughter gave Mickey a run for his money.

“First, you gotta brush her hair,” she hands Mickey the little brush and he tries to get it through the tangled mess. “No, you ever brush hair before or what? Like this, silly billy.” She practically rips the hair out of the doll’s head, but smiles brightly. “See? You think you’re ready to try again?”

He tries again and she lowers her eyebrows in concentration, watching him closely. “That’ll do, I guess. Now undress her. She can’t be wearing a dress for this.” Mickey obeys, having gotten over his reluctance to undress a weirdly disproportionate doll some time ago.

As he strips her down expertly, Nika hauls her gaudy pink doll accessory case off the coffee table and onto Mickey’s chest. She makes some hemming and hawing noises as she opens the lid. “Who are we saving today, Grandpa M&M’s?”

“How about the Russians?” She raises her eyebrow at him and Ian laughs from the kitchen. “Okay, how about we save the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles who are trapped in a submarine held hostage by a giant squid who has fallen in love with Leonardo?”

She considers this and nods at the level of complexity, but adds one caveat. “Good but the squid loves Michelangelo not Leonardo. Duh?”

The pair look inside the accessory case deciding what they’ll need for their mission. Nika pokes her finger around rooting through the helmets, masks, camo outfits, parachutes, knives, crossbows, rifles and other little pieces of plastic. She finally pulls out a spring-loaded missile launcher and cocks her eyebrow at Mickey. “How big did you say this squid was?”

 

\-------------------------------

 

“Dad! Dad! Where are you?” Yev’s newly deepening voice reaches Mickey who’s changing the oil in the new model Bronco that he’d been waiting forever to get his hands on. He slides the car dolly out from under the vehicle so Yev can see him.

“Your hair on fire, man?” He sits up lifting his eyebrows at his son.

“Dad saved a guy’s life!”

“Uh, yeah, he does that everyday. Did you think he was an astronaut or something?”

“Well, this time he wasn’t at work and I was with him and it was fucking, I mean freaking, awesome!” He’s pacing in front of Mickey looking down at him each time he passes by. The energy radiating off of him is giving Mickey the jitters.

“Calm down a bit and tell me what happened. I thought you guys were going for jog along the riverbank,” he stands up and sets the container of old oil on the work bench.

Yev takes a deep breath. “Yeah, we were jogging and this guy up the path a bit just suddenly drops to the ground holding his chest. I thought he’d been shot or something! But dad moved so fast I didn’t have a chance to think anything else. He just yelled at me to call 911.”

He takes another deep breath and thinks back to that moment. “I had to tell the dispatcher that the 50-year-old male was having acute myocardial infarction and an off duty first responder was giving him early cardiopulmonary resuscitation. And that’s what dad did. It was amazing. He’d be dead if dad wasn’t there,” he looks at Mickey wide-eyed and repeats, “like dead, dead.”

“That does sound amazing,” he agrees putting his hand on Yev’s shoulder. “Where is dad?”

“He dropped me off and he’s heading to the hospital to follow up on what happened. He didn’t know how long he’d be and wanted me to get supper started,” Yev explains helping Mickey replace tools to their hooks. “You should have been there to see him. So cool.”

Mickey smiles wondering how many 15-year-old boys would think their dad performing CPR on some random middle-aged dude was cool; however, it’s been obvious since the beginning that Yev might be Mickey’s biological son but he was Ian’s son in every other way.

In the kitchen, Yev grabs chicken from the fridge and Mickey washes his hands. Before he can start cutting up the chicken, Yev pulls his phone out of his pocket and starts typing, smiling hugely.

“Who you texting, kid? A girl?”

“Dad.”

“With a smile like that? Geez,” Mickey laughs and grabs a beer from the fridge. “You telling him how awesome he is? Gonna go to his head.”

“I’m telling him I know what I want to be when I get out of school.” Mickey’s eyes shift to him in surprise as this has been a dead-end topic since Yev started 10th grade. “An EMT.”

After Yev finishes his text and starts in on the chicken, Mickey takes his beer and phone to the deck. He pulls up Ian’s name on his phone and types: hows r hero doing?

The phone rings almost immediately and Mickey can’t think of the last time he’s spoken to Ian on the phone. He clicks the green icon, wondering idly if kids today would recognize the archaic handset as an actual phone.

“Mickey!”

“I know, sweetheart.”

“God, this is the second happiest day of my life.”

“What’s the first?” Mickey asks, knowing the answer but enjoying hearing it anyway.

“My first gun show,” he laughs happily. “You know how much I fucking love guns.”

“Yeah, I do. I love guns too.”

“Can you even believe it? He wants to be an EMT. I’ll push him to become a full paramedic of course.”

“I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s always been a mini Ian.”

“Does that bother you, Mick?”

“Bother me? I’d surround myself in Ians if I had the chance. Well, except for cleaning day, when one nagging Ian is like a thousand nagging Ians rolled into one.”

“Speaking of cleaning--.”

“I think the connection is breaking up. See you when you get home!”

 

\-------------------------------

 

Mickey is sitting at the kitchen table cleaning his guns when the front door opens and closes with more force than is necessary to complete the task functionally.

“Where’s Grandpa Ian?” Nika demands, walking into the kitchen, her dark eye makeup streaked and her nose red.

“Upstairs.”

Her face falls.

“Doing what?” she snaps angrily, formidable eyebrows lifting in expectation.

“How should I know? I’m not his keeper.”

She narrows her eyes at him and, from the middle of kitchen, yells, “Grandpa Ian!”

“Cool your jets, girl. I’m sure Dr. Phil will be down soon.”

“Who?” A tear drips off her eyelash.

“Never mind. What’s all this about?” He flicks his fingers at her teary face. “This crying stuff?”

“God, Aunt Mandy said you were the worst at this. She wasn’t kidding, was she?”

Mickey turns back to the Colt Defender he was cleaning. “I can try.”

He inserts the boar brush into the barrel chamber, when Nika sits down in the chair beside him and picks up the open slide. “You always go too fast. You know you shouldn’t leave any filings in the firing pin.” She squints her eye. “Yup, there’s traces. Pass me the silicone cloth.”

She offers her grandfather a dismissive head shake. “Not only do I clean a gun better than you, I’m going to clean the obstacle course with you at the 3-gun competition on Sunday.” Pause for effect. “Old man.”

He gives her the side eye. “I’ve killed for less.”

“Really?” Her eyes both sceptical and hopeful.

“Well, there was this guy in juvie once who kept stealing my Jello…,” he trails off winking at her.

“We are Milkoviches after all,” she announces with obvious pride.

Mickey blinks and nods.

They clean in comfortable silence for a while, dark heads bent. Mickey blowing compressed air into the magazine tube before passing it to Nika who inserts the recoil bushing and spring, and the guide rod back into the slide.

“How do you know if someone likes you?”

“You like them?”

“Yeah, but I think she hates me.”

“Sounds like an asshole.”

She smiles. “Probably, but we like who we like.”

“And that don’t make you a bitch.” Another smile.

“I just want her to like me so badly. Maybe even love me.”

She can tell that he is thinking about Grandpa Ian because he always looks like this when they are together, especially when they look at each other. She reaches over and kisses his cheek. “I have my answer. I take it back, you’re pretty good at this stuff.”

She fits the slide into the slide grooves and, with a huge grin, pulls it back with a satisfying snap. Grandpa Mickey looks at her like he likes her. Maybe even loves her.

 

 

**Dirty Talk**

While drinking a beer and sitting at the butcher block island, Mickey watches Ian cut up a thousand pieces of chicken and beef and fruits and veggies and arrange them on different plates. He then sets the table, strategically placing the plates and forks and pots at intervals around the table. Adding napkins and wine glasses, he appears satisfied.

“Should I run out for fucking flowers?”

“No, but I’m still kinda pissed you didn’t get any craft beer. Just because you’re a beer snob doesn’t mean the rest of the world is.”

“I’m the beer snob? Are you fucking kidding me? I am not going to be seen in public buying beer that tastes like grapefruit or some shit.” He takes a long pull from his bottle of Budweiser, maintaining eye contact with Ian the whole time. He wipes his mouth on his arm and adds, “Plus I’m a little put out that I’m going to be spending my evening fondueing. Like seriously you get weirder with each passing year, man.”

“Speaking of putting out,” Ian turns his back on Mickey. “I guess we could have invited our first fucking friends over and ate pizza pops and grunted at each other. And don’t look at me like that.”

“How do you know what I’m doing? Your back is to me.”

“Open a bottle of wine, and stop eating the strawberries.”

“You’re creepy.”

 

The front door closes and Ian turns to Mickey, kissing him full on the lips and lingering a bit. “You are amazing. I think they both fell in love with you.”

Mickey pulls back with a grimace. “Shut up.”

“You had them cracking up over your stories, especially the one about chasing me all over the southside to defend your sister’s honor.” Ian unbuttons Mickey’s shirt. “We now officially have friends. Three successful double dates.”

“Hmmm, we didn’t even get to first base.” Mickey closes his eyes letting Ian take him to home plate.

“I really like them. Do you like them, Mickey?” Ian is working on Mickey’s belt as he adds, “You’re not pretending, are you?”

“I like them fine. For a couple of gay dudes, they can hold their own.” He lets out a breath as his pants hit the floor. “I’m really hoping we can go antique shopping with them next weekend.”

“Oh, you gonna talk dirty to me, Mickey?” Ian nuzzles Mickey’s neck while sliding his hands over his chest.

“Ah, yeah, we could go for brunch and have mimosas first. Then hit the antique mall looking for, uh, um,” he opens his eyes to name the first thing he sees. “Lamps.”

Ian lowers himself to his knees and asks, “Then what?”

Mickey looks down at Ian with a blank expression, at the end of his knowledge on this topic. But he doesn’t want Ian to stop, so he suggests the only other thing he can think of that four gay dudes might do together—with their clothes on. “We’ll go to a musical.”

Ian grins up at him as best he can, his eyes asking him to continue. “Yeah, baby, there’s gonna be so much fucking singing and dancing. We can sing along with them,” he adds getting into the groove. “I’m sure it’ll be super fucking romantic with lots of angst and tender moments and some goddam, oh, goddamn it, some, oh, yeah, um, um, stuff and fuck,” he slides to the floor resting his head against the wall.

“Some what, Mick?”

“Huh?”

“Tender moments and what?”

Mickey opens his eyes a crack to give Ian a look of annoyance for harshing his orgasm buzz, but Ian isn’t there. He’s over by the island typing something into his phone.

“What the hell are you doing? I need a hand over here getting to bed. You sucked the life out of me.”

“Be there in a minute, just finishing a text.” Fingers flying over the screen.

Ian sits the phone down and walks over to Mickey. “Let me help you up what with those bad knees and all.”

Mickey slaps his hands away, and eyes Ian suspiciously. “Who were you texting?”

“Corey and Owen. Setting up our date for next weekend,” he looks at Mickey with a little smile of delight. “I wanted to make sure to book them now.”

“What date? What are you talking about?” Mickey surges to his feet, no longer anywhere near that post orgasm buzz. “Ian that was, that was, dirty talk. You know, stuff we say during sex doesn’t count.”

“But Mickey,” Ian’s face falls. “You tell me you love me and that I’m hot and that you can’t live without me while we fuck all the time!”

“You know what I mean, man.”

“I think I’ll just go to bed,” Ian adds with a stiff spine and purposeful steps up the stairs.

Mickey is left at the foot of the stairs unsure whether to go placate Ian or stop the train wreck of a double date that Ian has initiated. He loves Ian, he really does but he was NOT going to eat brunch, shop for lamps and watch a musical all in one fucking day. No fucking way.  He grabs Ian’s phone and swipes his way in. The text conversation between Ian and Corey is still up; he reads the final two texts.

Ian: Mickey is wondering if you and Owen want to go paintballing next Saturday.

Owen: Shit yeah we haven’t been in ages.

“Ian!” he yells, taking the stairs two at a time.

“You’re too easy. Get up here and get to bed. You’re taking me out for brunch tomorrow.”

 

 

**Third**

Mickey and Ian face each other, each leaning against a wall outside the clinic. “Fuck, if I’ve ever wanted a smoke in the last ten years, this is the moment, Ian. Jesus Christ, man.”

Ian’s eyes are full of tears and he is just staring at Mickey. They stand like that for awhile unable to absorb the information that just came at them, knowing it might eventually happen but never really believing it would.

“Mickey,” Ian whispers. Mickey pounces on Ian then, wrapping his arms around his neck and pulling him into a crushing bear hug. For the second time in his memory, Mickey cries.

“I’m officially not crazy anymore,” Ian sighs into Mickey’s neck.

“Fuck you, man. You’re the sanest person I know whether you have to take pills or not.”

“Not! And I haven’t even hit 50 yet,” he laughs pulling away from Mickey’s neck. “At 17, I thought I’d have one foot in the grave by the time 30 years went by. Turns out it’s the prime of my life.”

Mickey steps back so he can scan Ian from head to toe. Sure, if he looked close enough he might see a little thinning on the top and a little softening around the edges, and if Ian looked at him he might see a little extra junk in the trunk. But who sees any of that when you spend 30 years in crazy fucking love?

He gives Ian a nod of approval. “So is this the happiest day of your life?” he asks knowing the answer but as always wanting to hear it anyway.

Ian pretends to ponder it then answers, “Third.” He pushes away from the wall, wipes his eyes and with Mickey beside him starts a new chapter in his life. “Without those other two days, this one wouldn’t have much meaning.”

 

 

**Where the Heart Is**

Ian enters the hospital room and notices the empty visitor chair first. He turns to Mickey who is laying on the bed reading an e-mag, “Did Nika finally go home?”

“Yeah, I threatened to call security and tell them a tiny stalker was in my room.” He snickers putting the device on the bed tray and pushing it out of the way.

“You didn’t say _tiny_ , did you?”

“Sure did. It got her motor running. She stormed out of here,” he admitted. “She’s easy pickings. Takes her vertically challenged status seriously. Unlike other people in this family.”

“You don’t deserve her devotion,” Ian counters, still standing at the foot of the bed holding several bags. Each time he returns to the room, it takes him a few minutes to adjust to the sight of Mickey laying in a hospital bed.

“She was moping around here like it was my actual funeral not just a bunch of stupid fucking tests.”

“Jesus, Mickey, don’t say that!” Ian turns away from Mickey so he can’t see his tears.

“You can turn around, not like I don’t know you’re crying again.” Ian ignores him and lifts the bags to the visitor chair. “Put all that shit down and come here.”

Ian relents, unhooking his fingers from the bag handles and walking to the bedside.

Mickey takes Ian’s hand and pulls him down to the bed. “It’s ironic as fuck that it’s my heart that I’m in here for.”

“Why is that?”

“Cause it’s one of the two organs that has belonged to you since 2016.” Ian laughs out loud and relaxes into Mickey’s chest, listening to his heart beating. It sounds strong and healthy, like it has since the first time he heard it, since the first time he knew it was his.

“Mickey, I can’t be here without you. I’m not just saying that. I really can’t be left behind.”

“Don’t worry. I ain’t going no where,” he insists. “I’ve still got a few things to do.”

“Like what?” Ian asks, pulling back and looking at him with interest.

“Well, I gotta finish the book shelf in the family room.”

Ian huffs, “Ha! The one you started when Yev was in high school?”

“Yup, that’s the one!” He continues, “Plus I just started a really good book about a group of talking rabbits who are looking for a new home. Gotta know how that shit ends.”

He grins at Ian and then turns serious. “Plus you made me a solemn promise way back when about how we were going to die. Do you remember that?”

Ian nods, “On the lounger, yeah.”

“You promised, man.”

“I did.” Ian bites his lip and swallows. “You gotta come home then.”

“It’s where my heart is.”


	4. Epilogue or Some Shit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter brings together all three parts of this series.

**_Nuestra Bella Historia de Amor_ **

The sunset over Isla Ángel de la Guarda and the islands of the inner bay of the Sea of Cortez is not something that southside boys take for granted. The array of colors contrasts with the grey concrete they grew up with; the sound of waves coming and going mutes memories of car horns and emergency vehicles; and the feel of a soft warm breeze cools like no half assed air conditioner ever could.

While swaying slightly on their matching hammocks, Mickey and Ian watch a pair of oyster catchers peck at another bird on the rocky shore. The palapa they had rented was a 10 second walk from the water. The open-sided structure was perfect for cooling off and watching birds kill things while the sun sets.

They were holding hands between hammocks and smoking happily. “Well, we’re nearing the end of my honeymoon and your manhunt. How’s it working out for ya?” Mickey asks.

“It’s my honeymoon too! Just killing two birds, you know?”

“Clever and also very romantic, Ian. My heart’s all a flutter.”

Ian smiles at Mickey’s teasing. “It’s working out good. I like knowing what AU Mickey would be seeing and possibly doing. The people he might be meeting and the food he’s eating. All that.”

“Well, there’s worse lives than drinking tequila on the beach, I guess,” Mickey murmurs, glancing at Ian. “Fuck, I’m getting creeped out again. Your brain’s got me wandering the desert for eternity, like those dudes in the bible, man.”

Ian flips his legs over the edge of the hammock to face Mickey. “I know, sorry. But I think those guys only wandered for, like, 40 years.”

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” Mickey frowns at him in amazement. “Whatever, let’s drop it and talk about something that’s always on my mind instead.”

Ian laughs relieved and gets up to untie the cloth sides of their hut even though the four other palapas appear to be vacant.   

“Do you think anyone has ever figured out how to properly bang in a hammock?” Mickey asks.

“We are very experienced at banging, so if it can be done, we are the men for the job,” Ian offers, pulling the last curtain closed but leaving a crack between the panels so they can see the water.

Their first night, they had attempted to sleep in the simple stone structure attached to the back of the hut, but it hadn’t gone well. First it was hot and stuffy; second they were sharing the space with an assortment of bugs. Part way through the night, Mickey had flown out of the double sized cot, swiping maniacally at his back. After shaking out their sleeping bag over and over again, they laid back down, but with Ian draped over Mickey’s back and Mickey’s feet tucked into Ian’s thighs, they didn’t really achieve any successful REM that night. Now they were trying out the hammocks.

“I’m gonna find a decent position to fuck in this thing even if it kills me.” Mickey looks up at Ian thoughtfully as Ian comes to stand next to his husband’s hammock. “What are our options?” he asks.

“You want me to list them all?” Ian takes a deep breath. “Cowboy, reverse cowboy, lotus, missionary, cannonball, Roman candle--,” Ian laughs as Mickey swats him in the stomach.

“We could try laying on our sides.” Ian reaches out to push Mickey over onto his side before climbing onto the hammock with little grace, wobbling precariously for a moment before settling in. Sliding his arm under Mickey’s head, he presses up against his husband. “This is nice.”

It’s slow and peaceful and loving. When they finish, Mickey brings Ian’s hand to his mouth for hard kiss before looking behind him for Ian’s lips. “Get comfortable, you aren’t going anywhere.” Mickey settles in: head resting on Ian’s arm, one hand wrapped around that arm, the other hand wrapped in Ian’s.

“Hammocks are good in theory, huh?” Ian asks.

“Yeah, they get in the way of shit I like,” he mumbles already halfway to sleep, “fucking and sleeping.”

“But you could probably drink beer in one okay.”

“Mmm, I’m passionate about beer.”

“And what about complaining? You like that.”

“Go to sleep, already. You talk way too much.”

“Yup, you seem to do that just fine in a hammock.”

 

At the end of their third day bumming around the Bahía de los Ángeles area, they find themselves back at what is becoming their favorite taco stand in Mexico. They order a bunch of fish tacos and a couple of bottles of Tecate. The owner, China, comes out from behind the wooden counter with their food to see how their _bella historia de amor_ is coming along.

Showing absolutely no reluctance to spin a whimsical yarn about his misplaced love to anyone who is willing to listen, Ian beams at the middle-aged woman. The two of them had spent most of the previous evening catching up on their life stories and love stories while Mickey caught up on his beer drinking. Of course, Ian was able to find about six degrees of separation between the two of them. China had grown up in the US and spent a year at the Cooking and Hospitality Institute of Chicago before blah, blah, blah. Mickey had dozed off around that time.

“Well,” Ian answers her. “We went out to Montevideo today to see the prehistoric rock paintings. There was one engraving of a guy with a puffed-up chest and a huge spear trying to murder everything in sight.” He takes a bite of his taco to stretch his joke out. “Safe to say, I’m confident we’re on the right track.”

Mickey flicks some coleslaw at Ian’s face. “Wise guy, over here.”

“ _Qu_ _é locura_ ,” China laughs along with them, shaking her head in delight.

“We also went out to Punta la Gringa and met up with a guy named Vicente. He told us all about the area.”

“Sí, Vincente Rivas buys land here before rich gringos can turn Bahía into a tourist trap,” she informs them while nodding to the other patrons as they leave the taco shop. “Tourism is the double-edged sword in a small seaside town.”

Ian absorbs this information before continuing. “He also mentioned that the area has been a transit point for drug runners on their way to the US.”

China explains, “Narrow, unpaved roads keep us secluded from tourism as well as _federales_ , so yes we are a popular stopping point for illegal drugs. Less so now that many areas of the road are under construction. Instead we are often overrun with construction workers these days.”

“That’s good news. Apparently, some of the Sinaloa cartel have a grow op around here with elaborate underground tunnels for smuggling,” Ian continues, apparently determined to understand the entire Mexican drug trade business even its lore.

Mickey pipes up, “I can see where this is going. Underground drug running, please.”

“Just an interesting bit of local history,” Ian responds turning his attention to Mickey now. “I was thinking more of how incensed Vincente got over the illegal exporting of penises from bull sea lions.”

“Oh, yeah, and what exactly were you thinking about seal dicks for?” Mickey narrows his eyes daring Ian to go on.

Ian turns to China and asks innocently, “Could we get a couple churros to go, please?” When the cook moves away from them, he reaches across the table to rub his finger against the side of Mickey’s hand. “I love you,” he smiles softly adding, “even if you ran an illegal seal dick export business.”

He manages to dodge the incoming coleslaw.

 

The walk back to their hut is quiet aside from the sounds of lips smacking while they chow down on the churros. Once there, Ian heads up to the parking lot to get clean clothes from their car, while Mickey heads up to the hut to shower.

Grabbing the bottle of shampoo and a towel off the little table in their hut, Mickey goes around to the side of the stone structure where the shower is attached. Its three stone walls face the shore leaving one side open. He strips down throwing his clothes over the top edge of the shower before turning on the tap.

The cool water hits his skin and he sighs in pleasure as it runs down his body. Squirting shampoo into his hand, he lathers his hair massaging along his scalp. Tilting his head back to rinse, he closes is eyes. Even with them closed though, he feels the moment Ian arrives and scorches him with his gaze.

He’s about 10 feet away leaning against the post that holds up the palm leaf roof, settled in for a show. A show Mickey would give him. He grabs the shampoo again squeezing it into his hand before tossing the bottle to the floor of the shower. He rubs his hands together then runs his hands over his chest and down to his abdomen. Then back up to his neck and throat and down along his arms making sure to flex his biceps with each pass he makes.

He returns his hands to his chest and moves lower, flexing like washing himself takes herculean effort. As his hand works over himself, he turns toward the spray exposing his back to Ian. Bending over to retrieve the shampoo, he smiles to himself. With another handful of suds, he slides them around to his lower back and over his ass, once again clenching his muscles.

After massaging his cheeks a few times, he slides the fingers of one hand between them while the other hand disappears from Ian’s view. Looking over his shoulder, he sees Ian push away from the pole but remain where he’s standing. It won’t be long now.

Moments later, Mickey drops both hands and turns to Ian, staring before tilting his head back into the spray one more time, exposing his throat to Ian, who closes the distance and enters the shower fully dressed. He plants his mouth on Mickey’s throat and bites hard. Mickey grunts and presses his naked body against Ian’s clothed one while the water flows over them. He slides Ian’s shorts over his hips, filling his hand with hardness.

Ian pulls away and pushes his shorts off as he grabs the shampoo off the ground. He fills his hand with shampoo and pumps himself as Mickey reaches up and grabs the shower head with both hands. He swings his legs up and around Ian’s hips, pulling him into a tight vise.

When he feels Ian against him, he loosens his grip on Ian’s hips a little until he’s filled up.

“Can you hold yourself up?” Ian asks gripping his ass and pressing his face into the bunched muscles of Mickey’s chest.

“Only need 30 seconds, man,” Mickey huffs pulling himself up then releasing onto Ian again.

“Thank god.”

 

Laying in his hammock, Ian watches Mickey turn this way and that trying to get comfortable. He punctuates each movement with a lament: “I wanna go home and sleep in my fucking bed, eat my food, play pool at the Alibi, annoy my sister, build a dinosaur fort with Yev, listen to you nag me about leaving my socks lying around.” He finally finds a position and relaxes.

Ian’s heart had skipped a beat while he listened to Mickey list the things he loves. As much as this trip was about this Mickey, it was also about another Mickey, one who never got to do any of those things again. Ian felt the conflict of this inside him, the high of being with him here and now and the low of knowing somewhere deep inside that he had once also lost him. It’s this Mickey who needs him to step up now though.

 “Tomorrow morning, we’ll head home. I’ll do most of the driving and you can sleep.”

“Now we’re talking.” Mickey looks over his shoulder at Ian, grinning like he won the lottery. “Stop eyeing my ass. This taco stand is closed for the night.”

“Sounds like a challenge to me.” He swings his hammock until he’s able to hook the side of Mickey’s, bringing them closer together. Mickey flips over and grabs the side of Ian’s hammock. They close the distance between their lips. “Thanks for doing this.”

“Yeah, yeah. It’s been fun actually. And don’t worry, I know this ain’t the end of it. We’ve still got 750,000 square miles to cover,” he smirks at Ian releasing his grip on the hammock. When Ian does too, they sway away from each other and back again, each time they come close they touch fingers.

“You make me so gay, Ian. Now go the fuck to sleep.”

Ian obeys and closes his eyes, allowing the peaceful night sounds and Mickey’s soft breathing to soothe him. His mind replaying the moment less than two weeks ago when he and Mickey finally crossed the border together.

 

_“Well, we’re here. Ground zero. How ya want this to go down?”_

_They are leaning against the hood of their car, which is parked on the side of the road about 150 feet from the point of entry. Ian is nervously chewing his nail, watching the gate lift and lower, and not responding to Mickey’s prompts._

_Mickey lights yet another smoke and paces around the dirt patch they are parked on. He’s bending over looking for bugs. After being chased by an assassin beetle the previous night when they pulled over to take a leak, he wasn’t taking any chances._

_Once he finishes his smoke, he turns to Ian across the dirt patch and huffs out, “Come on, man. I’m gonna cross without you if you don’t get your act together.”_

_“Jesus, Mickey, did you really just say that?” Ian looks incredulously at Mickey._

_“I didn’t actually mean it, chill out.” He flaps his arms and adds, “I’m getting antsy. This place gives me the heebie-jeebies. Can we just get in the fucking car and go already?”_

_“Oh my god! This is the whole goddamn point of this trip and you want me to race through it like, like we’re actually running from the law. Fuck!”_

_“The whole goddam point of this trip is our goddamn honeymoon, motherfucker,” Mickey yells back at him, storming past Ian to get into the car. Before he reaches it, he turns to Ian. “Fuck you, Gallagher,” he hisses and adds his own special salute for good measure._

_Ian bends over laughing and Mickey slams the car door without getting in. “What’s so fucking funny, dumbass?” But he’s smiling too._

_Taking a couple of breaths to control his laughter, he explains, “We got along better when we were breaking up here than we are now on our honeymoon.”_

_“Oh, so now it’s OUR honeymoon, is it?”_

_“Come here, brat, and give me a fucking kiss, so we can do this.”_

_Mickey does as he’s told, stepping into Ian’s arms and locking lips. They let it run its natural course of tongue scraping and lip sucking before Mickey pulls back and taps Ian’s cheek, “Satisfied already?”_

_“Yeah, but I’m driving.” He walks around to the driver’s side and pulls the door open. Mickey does the same on his side, but before either of them gets in, Mickey asks, “Are you going to get all corny and say it?”_

_Ian smiles hugely and nods. “Oh, I’m gonna say it and it’s gonna be fucking awesome!”_

_“Get on with it then, weirdo.” Mickey smiles back._

_Clearing his throat dramatically, Ian declares, “_ That _isn’t me anymore.”_


End file.
